


Moritz Stiefel Does Not Take Dares

by diefacingourfoes



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: M/M, hanschen is a dick, slight hints of hanschen/ernst, this is supposed to be canon era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diefacingourfoes/pseuds/diefacingourfoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanschen dares Moritz to climb a tree that really isn't meant to be climbed. Things go about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moritz Stiefel Does Not Take Dares

Moritz was never going to take a dare from Hanschen Rilow again.

            Honestly, he was stupid for doing it at all. Ignore him and walk away, that was what Melchior always said. But the group had been exchanging dares, and Moritz hadn’t participated until Hanschen gave him one, and when he tried to say no Hanschen called him a coward and had made cruel remarks with that terrible smirk on his face until Moritz gave in.

            And look where it had gotten him.

            It wasn’t even the tree’s height that was the problem, it was the fact that its branches were far too small to support a fifteen year old boy. Moritz hadn’t even climbed half as far as Hanschen had told him to when he grabbed a branch to pull himself up, taking his feet off of the one he was standing on, and he heard a sickening crack as the branch broke, and a sickening crack as he hit the ground.

            He was ok. He would be ok. His head felt woozy and he didn’t think anything had hurt ever hurt as much as his left ankle did right now, but he would be ok.

            Moritz put his hand to the ground and tried to push himself up, but apparently his wrist had hit the ground or the tree somewhere along the way too, and he soon decided that was a bad idea.

            “You asshole!”

            Moritz couldn’t look up without his neck wanting to cry, but he recognized the voice as Melchior’s.

            “You complete and utter asshole! You give him a dare that’s way too dangerous, and then when he says no like a _reasonable person_ you taunt him and taunt him until he gives in, and now look-“

            Moritz took a moment to decide whether the pain and humiliation was worth hearing Melchior go off at Hanschen on his behalf. He was veering in the “yes” direction when he heard someone running over to him.

            “Moritz.” His head was being moved and that _hurt,_ but then Melchior placed it on his leg and it didn’t hurt anymore and he found himself gazing up at his friend’s face.

            “The tree wasn’t strong enough,” Moritz found himself saying.

            “No. It wasn’t.” From what Moritz could tell, Melchior was concerned. Concerned was always good. Plus, before Moritz had climbed the tree, Melchior had been walking with Wendla Bergmann and chatting with her and looking all happy, and now all his attention was on Moritz. Maybe he should fall out of trees more, if it makes Melchior look at him like that. “Moritz, are you okay? God, you really worried me. You were up so high and-“ Melchior broke off. “What hurts?”

            “My ankle,” said Moritz. “My head. My neck. My wrist, a little.”

            “Your head?” asked Melchior. “That’s not good.” He frowned. “Are you thinking clearly?”

            “Not really,” said Moritz. And it was mostly because of the hitting his head thing and only a little because of the head on Melchior’s lap thing.

            “What’s my name?”

            “You’re Melchi.” Moritz was pretty sure he could remember that one even if his head was altogether chopped off.

            “Good. What’s _your_ name?”

            “Moritz Stiefel.”

            Melchior nodded. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He held up his hand in front of Moritz’s face. Moritz squinted.

            “Two?”

            Melchior sighed. “You really did hit your head.”

            “How many was it,” said Moritz dreamily. “The suspense is killing me.”

            “Four.”

            “I was way off.”

            “Yeah.” Melchior sighed again, then put on his “let’s get down to business” face. “Can you walk?”

            Moritz nodded. “I think so.”

            “Okay. Great. I’ll help you, and we can walk back to my house.”

            Melchior lifted Moritz’s head out of his lap. Which was disappointing. But if he was going to help Moritz walk, there would be more contact in the near future. So that was okay.

            Melchior held out his hand and put an arm around Moritz’s waist, supporting him as he stood up. But his ankle started screaming at him and his head spun around wildly and before Moritz knew it he was on the ground again.

            “Ow.”

            Melchior kneeled down. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah.”

            He squinched up his face in concentration, which was adorable, and then his face cleared and he moved forward and Moritz couldn’t think anything anymore.

            Being off the ground, he was able to look around, and all of their friends had gone. “Where is everyone?”

            “They left.” Melchior started walking back to the path, surprisingly quickly considering he was carrying a fifteen year old boy bridal style.

            Moritz was kind of disappointed. “They left while I was hurt.”

            “They knew I would take care of you.”

            That was a good response. But there was another problem. “You’re not going to be able to carry me the whole way.”

            “Are you doubting my strength?” Melchior picked up the pace a little. “I’ll be fine. If I have to stop, we’ll stop. You’re not that heavy.”

            Moritz really wanted to lay down his head on Melchior, mostly because the longer he held it up, the more it hurt, and partly because he just wanted to, but that might be awkward, and it could possibly make Melchior uncomfortable and lead him to the realization that Moritz wanted to be a whole lot more than best friends. But Melchi knew he had hit his head. He wouldn’t think anything of it. He’d be fine.

            Moritz let his head drop onto Melchior’s chest, and he could hear Melchior’s breath quicken slightly, but he didn’t say anything, so Moritz figured it was okay.

            “I can’t believe Hanschen made you do that. I hate him so much.”

            “He didn’t _make_ me.”

            “He kind of did. You shouldn’t have accepted the dare, but he didn’t give you much choice.”

            Moritz attempted to nod, even though Melchior couldn’t see it. He could feel it. “I can’t believe Ernst is friends with him.”

            Melchior sighed. “Don’t talk to me about that. It makes me too upset.”

            Moritz nodded again. He closed his eyes, because it was easier to leave them like that.

            Melchior walked a little longer in silence. Moritz could hear his heart beat with every step he took. It was comforting, almost like a lullaby. Moritz started to drift off.

            “Don’t fall asleep,” said Melchior as if he were reading Moritz’s mind. (Moritz really hoped he wasn’t.)

            “Why not?” Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

            “People who hit their heads aren’t supposed to fall asleep. I’m not quite sure why, but it can mess with your recovery. Don’t fall asleep.”

            “Okay.” Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

            “Talk to me. Recite the Latin we’re learning in class.”

            Moritz hoped he was joking.

            “I’m joking.” At some point Moritz had started fiddling with his tie, running his hands over the fabric. There was a chance Melchior wouldn’t notice. And if he did, friends could…platonically…play with each other’s ties.

            Moritz let go of Melchior’s tie.

            “Just…talk to me. Don’t fall asleep.”

            If Moritz started to babble to Melchior now, drugged by the fall and Melchior’s proximity, he was pretty sure an “I love you” would find its way in there somewhere. Possibly two. “You talk to me.”

            “Okay. Don’t fall asleep, though.”

            “I won’t.”

`           Melchior started to passionately describe one of his anti-establishment stances, and Moritz was almost starting to regret asking him to talk. (Moritz liked hearing Melchior get passionate about things. But not now.) Anyway, he couldn’t fall asleep while listening to that.

            As it turned out, Melchior had been right, as usual. He was able to make it to Melchior’s house without putting Moritz down or slowing. Maybe Frau Gabor was right, and Moritz did need to eat more. Moritz assumed he would put Moritz down once they got out of the woods, but he carried Moritz up to his door, somehow opened it without dropping him, and into the kitchen.

            Frau Gabor looked up. “Goodness.”

            “He hit his head,” Melchior announced. “Hanschen was being Hanschen and pressured him into climbing a tree that can’t really support human weight, and he fell, and he hit his head. And something happened to his ankle.”

            Moritz couldn’t actually see Frau Gabor, but he was sure her expression was disapproving. “Moritz, you shouldn’t be listening to that boy. Especially when he tells you to endanger yourself. It’s not worth it.”

            Considering the amount of physical contact he’d had with her son today, Moritz was pretty sure it was worth it, but he wasn’t about to say that. “I know. Sorry.”

            “Alright.” She clucked a couple of times. “Take him upstairs and let him rest. If his head doesn’t get better soon, we can take him home.”

            “That was the plan.” Melchior started to carry Moritz upstairs.

            “And see if he can walk on his own.”

            Melchior slowly and reluctantly lowered Moritz to the floor. He stumbled a bit once his legs touched, but he didn’t immediately crumple this time. He felt a lot more lucid, actually. His ankle still hurt a whole lot, and he had a pounding headache, but he could actually think clearly.

            Melchior put his arm around Moritz’s waist, then helped him up the stairs very slowly. As soon as Frau Gabor was (presumably) out of sight, he picked up Moritz again, carrying Moritz down the hallway and into his room, then lowering him onto Melchior’s bed.

            “I feel better now, actually,” said Moritz. Melchior had sat down at the edge of his bed and was watching him. “My head still hurts and my ankle still hurts, but I’m pretty sure I’d be able to tell you how many fingers you’re holding up.”

            Melchior held up three fingers.

            “Three.”

            “Good,” said Melchior. His voice sounded very official. “It probably wasn’t too serious, seeing as you’re recovering quickly. But you should try to avoid straining your ankle over the next few days, or until it’s fully recovered.”

            “Stop acting like you know everything,” said Moritz. There was fondness in his voice. “You’re not a doctor.” Moritz propped himself up, leaning back against the pillow. He was sick of not being able to see what was going on.

            Melchior smiled. He swung his legs over so he was sitting completely on the bed, next to Moritz.

            “Maybe I am a doctor. There are things you don’t know about me.”

            “Really.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Like what.”

            “Well I can’t _tell_ you that, can I, or else you would know them.”

            “Uh huh,” said Moritz. “I see how it is.”

            Melchior smiled. It wasn’t a grin or a smirk, but a genuine smile, and Moritz noticed for the first time how close Melchior’s face was to his. His face was close and he was smiling at Moritz like Wendla Bergmann had never existed and his lips were really soft and-

            Moritz didn’t even realize what he was doing until about three seconds after it happened. He pulled away so quickly that you’d think Melchior’s lips were coated in arsenic.

            “Oh god.”

            “Moritz?”

            “Oh God, I’m so sorry Melchi, I didn’t mean-, I mean- Something’s wrong with my head, that must be the reason. There’s no other explanation-“

            “Moritz-“

            “God, God, God, I’m so sorry. I understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore-“

            “Moritz!”

            “-but please don’t say you don’t want to be friends with me anymore that will never happen again I promise.” Moritz abruptly ran out of air.

            “Moritz.” Melchior’s voice was gentle. “What did I do to prompt that reaction?”

            “It was nothing _you_ did,” said Moritz. “ _I_ kissed _you._ ”

            “Right,” said Melchior. “And I was kissing you back.”

            Moritz’s train of thought crashed into a wall and everyone on it died. “What?”

            “You kissed me,” repeated Melchior. “And I was kissing you back. Until you pulled away and started freaking out.”

            “But…” Moritz’s mind scanned through the situation, and he came up with no answers. “Why?”

            Melchior smiled a little. “I like you.”

            “You like Wendla.”

            “No, I like you. I didn’t think you liked me romantically, though.”

            This scenario had so completely subverted Moritz’s expectations for anything that would ever happen to him ever that his brain was now wildly spinning around with nothing he knew to be true to latch onto. “I do,” said Moritz slowly. “A lot.”

            Melchior smiled again, the fantastic, heart-breaking smile full of pure happiness that Melchior only chose to lighten the world with occasionally, and Moritz was so enamored that he didn’t even notice that Melchior was kissing him until, _oh god, Melchior was kissing him._

            If Moritz had been thinking at all he would have made the observation that his earlier thoughts were indeed accurate: Melchior’s lips were soft, and, unlike anything he would have guessed, they fit with his own perfectly.

            If he had been thinking at all, he would have been worrying about his own lack of experience: the only person he had ever kissed was Ilse when he was thirteen (more accurately, she had kissed him; it had been short and awkward), and even then he had known that he would never be able to enjoy kissing a girl the way he was supposed to. And Melchior had kissed enough girls. Moritz wasn’t sure how this occurred, as boys and girls weren’t really allowed to be alone together, but he had kissed enough girls.

If he had been thinking at all, he would have noticed how _natural_ the whole thing was- it was only the first (second) time he had ever kissed Melchior, but he already felt like he knew the taste of his tongue, he knew how his chest felt against Moritz’s hands, he knew the soft noises Melchior was making in the back of his throat. When they were eight it had been natural for Melchior to race Moritz across the fields and when they were ten it had been natural for them to sit together in corners and have their own whispered conversation and when they were thirteen it had been natural for them to agonize over their Latin homework together and now they were fifteen and Moritz already knew it was natural for them to be curled up together in Melchior’s bed, souls and mouths melding like wax on a burning candle.

But Moritz wasn’t thinking at all. He would think all those things later, when he sat at home in bed and replayed the scene over and over again. At the moment, his mind was blank.

And then Melchior pulled back, and Moritz wondered what he had done _wrong,_ and he ran twenty possible worst case scenarios in his head before Melchior said, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just kissed someone with a head injury.”

Relieved was far too understated of a word. “I feel a lot better now.” He leaned forward.

“Still,” said Melchior. He ran his fingers through Moritz’s hair. “You’re hurt. You should rest.”

Moritz really hated Hanschen Rilow.

“Come here.” Melchior lay down on the bed, his head on the pillow, and Moritz, after deciding he was serious about the whole not kissing thing, lay his head on Melchior’s chest, and Melchior’s arms wrapped around him, and okay, this wasn’t so bad.

“What if your mom comes in,” Moritz mumbled. He didn’t actually care that much.

“She won’t. She respects my privacy.” Melchior’s fingers carded through Moritz’s hair. “How much do you think it would piss Hanschen off to know that him trying to torture you led to the two people who he hates most confessing their feelings for each other?”

            Moritz grinned. “A lot.”

            Melchior laughed, slightly.

            “Melchi?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Now that we’re out of the woods and I’m not going to die, is it okay for me to go to sleep?”

Melchior laughed again. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Moritz, sleep.”


End file.
